Loved Back To Life
by MellarkMania103
Summary: Post-Mockingjay, collection of one shots in five parts. Katniss and Peeta grow back together after the rebellion and love each other back to life. Inspired by the amazing trilogy by Suzanne Collins and Celine Dion's song "Loved Me Back To Life"


Hello all lovers of anything HG, and my loyal followers! I have had a few ideas buzzing around my head for a while and this was one of them and I told myself writers must write! So I did! This is not like my Haymitch one shot, it is more a one shot split up a bit into five parts I've decided. And I tell Katniss & Peeta's story using quotes from Celine Dion. I think I am going to switch between both of their POV's, and maybe an omniscient one for the final part. I will try to update every Friday or so, I'll try my best. I also read this one fan fiction and the author said to comment something about you, and see if we could start a friendship, I did and we still talk to this day! So I encourage you to check her out she is an amazing writer and she is Ice-Cold-Diamonds, and comment something about yourself after you read! I hope you enjoy! I own NOTHING!

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Chapter 1 – "The voices inside were so loud."

As I walked, I felt dead, I felt it in my heart, and I felt it in my soul. I can remember so little about the last few years that I know for fact is true. Most things are fuzzy and shiny. I don't remember much of anything for sure, and what I do scares me. The train station grew smaller and smaller as I waked away from it. I knew I should head to Victors Village, since apparently the bakery went up in flames. I was told the bakery was one of the places where the biggest bombs were dropped. This also makes me feel dead. My childhood home, I learned how to decorate a cake in the back room with my father. I used to walk in on my brother Rye with girls in our bedroom, and I used to torture him about it if he didn't want mom to find out. My mother used to read me stories when I was really little in the living room, well at least before she began to hate me.

The ashes of my entire family are floating through the air as I walk past. I hold my breath. The thought that they are now free of the torments of life in Panem, is the only thing keeping me from falling totally apart. A few tears escape my eyes and a few workers cleaning up the florist shop that was next to the bakery stop and stare. A few begin to whisper things, wondering if I really am Peeta Mellark, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games, fiancé to the Girl On Fire, the boy who was tortured by the Capitol, the boy who almost killed the love of his life. This I all remember with ease, especially the last part now that things are clearer for me. I've always been in love with her, even through the torture. She has always been that beacon of hope for me to push through the pain and the visions. Even when I forgot it was her I loved, she was the thing I was always trying to get back to, even though I couldn't see it. I couldn't get out, my head was my true prison, and some days it still is. When I close my eyes and the lights go out, nightmares fill my mind, the images I could never describe to anyone. It is all so real, I sometimes cant tell if I'm sleeping or am still awake. The monsters in my head know my weaknesses and how to use them against me in unimaginable ways. The voices are so loud, that I can't help but listen to them. This is an agony that I wouldn't wish upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. No one deserves this kind of suffering.

I don't know when I fell to my knees, but I get up and brush my pants of the ash. I can't take any of the ash home, even though the ash is truly home. I turn back, the way to Victor's Village, the place I have to call home. I walk with a brisk pace, needing to lie down and recover from my long journey from the Capitol. The train was bad enough, too many memories flooding my mind that I had hoped never to face again. Once I enter the village, the path is worn and cracked more than I remember. The trees seem as if they are struggling to hold on to life. The grass is straw, and paper-thin. Most of the houses I pass have never been lived in, but are occupied now. The families who dared to come back after the war with nowhere to go, have settled in. The three houses at the end of the street I barely know at all but I call them home. The one at the end with the paint chipping off and the geese running in the back is home to Haymitch, or at least it used to be. I couldn't say if he's drunken himself into his grave yet. The one in the middle seems sad and gloomy. The shades are all closed, there is just an old smoke cloud towering over the house, from a fire that was never restarted. I hope someone will start it for her again, I heard she wasn't calling the Doctor. The one next to it is mine. As I near the steps I see a sign on the door, _Private Property_. I wonder who kept my house empty. No one except the doctor knew I was coming back. As I climb the two steps to the porch I see the sign is written in a familiar script, jagged and hasty. Only my neighbor would have written this. I never would have thought she'd care.

As I push the door open, I carefully rip the sign off. I hold it tightly in my hand, the only piece I have of her. The room smells musty, and of old bread. The staircase is right in front of me, the open concept room leads my gaze right to the kitchen, the door to the study and finally to the large living area with couches, a bookshelf, and a television. I hang the sign from the front door on the refrigerator; I don't know what to do with it just yet. I climb the stairs and pass four bedrooms until I get to the master suite that is mine, at the very end of the hallway. I go inside the dark room and shut the door. I take off my dirty clothes and put on a fresh pair of pants. I draw the shades and sit on the bed to take my prosthetic off. I have thanked her quietly in my mind everyday before I go to bed. Without her I wouldn't be alive, and the prosthetic reminds me of this everyday. I fall onto the pillows and fall into a deep and blissful sleep.

I open my eyes to find myself sitting at the dinning room table in the kitchen. Next to me is Katniss, she smiles at me, and takes my hand. She twirls her fingers throughout my own, and I cant help but think that we are married. Next to her is her little sister Prim; only she is all grown up, more than she was when she died. She holds hands with a gentleman whose face is blurred. On the other end of me is a little boy and a little girl, one has my hair and her eyes, the other her hair and my eyes. I can't make out too many features but I can see this easily enough, they are my children. Soon I hear a glass clinking and its Katniss standing up with a glass and spoon in her hand. "To Prim and her husband, to another wonderful year of marriage. May the odds be ever in your favor." They all laugh, and I cant help but smile, its as if the war never happened, its as if we all just could finally be happy. Then Prim stands up "Thank you Katniss, and I just want to congratulate the both of you. Katniss, Peeta, I know you'll be just as great of parents to your baby to come, as you have been to your two adorable children." I have another baby? This couldn't be more perfect; this is exactly how I have pictured my life. Then I hear a shot, then a few more. Before I know it, Prim is lying dead and bleeding on the ground, my kids are gone and Katniss is sobbing, not knowing what to do. I can't do anything but look at the girl who is lying dead on the ground, who just said I had another child.

I wake with a start, I look frantically around the room for Katniss, my children, Prim, anyone. It becomes clear that it was just a dream, an image created by my subconscious. I slip my prosthetic on and look out the window. The wall under the windows of Katniss' house look barren, there used to be flowers there but they are all long gone. I keep seeing Prim lying dead on the ground in my kitchen. An idea rushes into my head and I know exactly what to do. I run around to the back of the house and grab the wheelbarrow that has been sitting there. I take it and go into the woods, hoping to find some Primrose bushes to plant in her honor. I don't have to go too far, but I reach a corner of the woods that seems unexplored, I wonder if Katniss ever came here. I find five scraggly bushes baring the beautiful golden flowers. I dig up all of them and hoist them into the wheelbarrow; I soon realize how out of shape I am. When I return I begin to dig at the old rotted landscaping to make holes for the bushes to go into. I fall into the rhythm of the shovel scrapping at the earth. A door slams somewhere in front of the house, but I ignore it.

"You're back," she says simply. I haven't seen her in the flesh for so long, she is beautiful even with her scars and matted hair from weeks of abuse. We match and our bodies, like our minds will always share some of the same life altering experiences.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." I wish I could ask her how she is, but that was the only thing that I could think of saying. I can only keep staring at her disheveled beauty. No matter what mental state she is in, and no matter how bad her hygiene must have gotten, she will always be the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on.

"What are you doing?" she asks almost defensively. I guess she thought I was judging her.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her, I thought we could plant them along the side of the house," I watch her face go from confusion, to hatred, then to an overwhelming sadness. She takes a breath and gives me a quick nod of assent, and then she flies back into her house. I had hoped she would come help me, but I knew deep down she wouldn't. The windows on the upper floor are thrown open and I didn't see her again that day. I just went back to my work, paying tribute to the one tribute that managed to escape the arena by her sisters' love. The only thought that could enter my mind was a longing for the Mockingjay of the rebellion to fly out of her door to me once more.


End file.
